


The First Time - But Not The Last

by tiredhealer



Category: Fall of Faraday, Original Fiction - Fandom
Genre: Other, aster is a size queen, dorian and aster have their first time, dorian is happy to oblige that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29663382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredhealer/pseuds/tiredhealer
Summary: Dorian and Aster spend an afternoon alone together.
Relationships: Aster Bellamy/Dorian Vale, Doriaster
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	The First Time - But Not The Last

Dorian isn’t sure what to make of Oracle’s base. It’s a home, apparently. Safe, supposedly, though hasn’t that already been proven wrong by Aureli poking their head in? It’s _safer_ than anywhere else he’s been in a long time, he’ll give her that, even with the lich at the window. He hasn’t had anywhere he can stay and rest in…he can’t remember how long.

As for home, well. He hasn’t had a home in twenty years, and this isn’t it either. There are no grand vistas here, no caves built to accommodate his real form – half the ceilings aren’t even tall enough for him to walk without stooping. He’s aware, as he is everywhere, that this place was not made for him.

But there’s a room he can lock the door on, a floor he can pile his hoard upon, and a bed to lay on at the end of the day.

And there’s Aster and Jacob.

He didn’t know how to interact with the two of them together, at first. Aster he’s learning when it’s just them; the way their ears twitch up for excitement or droop for upset even when their expression never changes, or the way they lean themself towards him, the way their fingers reach even when the rest of them is silent.

Jacob is easier to read, more typical of humans: he’s soft, and loud, and – what’s the expression? Wears his heart on his hand? No, that isn’t right. But he’s open with how he feels, loud in his affections, and Dorian remembers the rhythm their bodies had on that night they spent together years ago.

The problem is the two of them together. They’ve been together for so long that Dorian isn’t sure how to fit into that – whether he _can_ fit into that. They’re not making it difficult, and ever since Aster got their own room the three of them have spent their nights piled into the same large bed, curled together. There’s just a distance, a space he can’t cross. Only time will do that, probably. If he has time. He’s never stuck around this long before.

But he’s happy to be here, for as long as he is.

Take today, where Jacob gets up and slips into clothing that hugs every soft roll and curve and leaves them with a kiss, going to teach the interns how to dance. Sometimes, Dorian goes to watch. He lays in the warm grass with his head tipped back towards the pretend sky and he listens to the rhythm of the music and the rise and fall of Jacob’s voice.

Today, he stays where he is, laying in bed next to Aster. They’re leaning against him as they pour through a book so old that the pages fray at the edges. If he breathes on it too hard, it might fall apart, so Dorian tries to avoid looking at it in case a sneeze creeps up on him. Instead, he keeps an arm draped around them as he dozes, letting his mind wander from one thing to the next without settling on anything for too long. The room is warm from the fire in the hearth, the bedding soft around him, Aster a welcome pressure against his side. He can’t remember the last time he was this comfortable.

‘Are you sleeping?’ Aster asks suddenly, cutting through the quiet.

Dorian opens his eyes and turns to place a kiss against their temple, ‘No.’

They put the book down and slide it away from them both towards the spot where Jacob usually is. ‘Are you…Bored?’

‘Bored? Why?’

They shrug. He watches the way their ears twitch as a thought churns. ‘I’m reading and you’re not doing anything.’

‘I’m relaxing,’ he says. ‘It’s nice to just lay still and do nothing.’

Their eyebrows furrow in a way that tells him they don’t agree or understand the appeal. ‘Oh.’

Dorian smirks. ‘Unless you have something else in mind we could do?’

Aster’s cheeks turn pink all the way up to their ears.

Its all the encouragement Dorian needs. He leans down, pressing his lips against their temple, their cheekbone, down over the sharp line of their jaw until he reaches their lips where they are parted and waiting. He kisses them softly, one slow brush of their lips together after another until he gets what he wants: Aster making a faint sound of impatience, a hum that demands more.

He’s happy to give that to them. He parts his lips, lets his tongue flick against their closed mouth, revelling in the way they inhale, in the way their hands clench against his forearms. Their lips part, their tongue tentative as they brush it against his. The sensation of their open mouths together makes pleasure twitch all the way down his spine.

Dorian slides a hand down their body, over the jut of their ribs to the edge of their hipbone where he holds on tight and squeezes. His reward is Aster gasping into his mouth, a reward he’ll take each and every time.

They fall into a rhythm of kissing; open-mouthed, tongues sliding together, Aster making tiny little noises beneath him that make his heart thud loud in his chest. He’s wanted them for so long, but this is something else, something that remembers being new to the mortal world and huddling round a fire for warmth with them. Its something that has roots, that squeezes around his heart.

Its something he couldn’t let go of if he tried.

Dorian rolls himself over so he’s on top of Aster and they spread their thighs for him, letting him settle into the space while he lays his chest over theirs. They’re both fully dressed but still the pressure of their body against his makes him moan into the kiss.

Aster gets their hands beneath his shirt and pushes them up, following the line of his spine, tracing the patterns of scars and scales both along the arch of his shoulder-blades. They drop their hands to the hem and tug at it once, twice, increasingly impatient. Dorian smirks into the kiss then sits up, kneeling between their thighs as he peels his shirt off.

He lets them look, revelling at the way their wide eyes slowly move over his torso. He’s long past feeling any self-consciousness about his scars so he lets them look: the mass of scar tissue that makes up his stomach, the old whip-lashes that arch over his chest, the marks from his top-surgery that arch beneath his nipples. Then there’s the new scars from his time in the circus basement, that are still shiny at the edges and slick to the touch.

Aster reaches up towards one of them and runs their fingertips over it, so softly, so tender its like a kiss. Dorian shudders and parts his lips on a sigh. He lets them see the effect they have on him; the way his blue skin is flushed to almost purple, the way their fingertips against his skin can send him shivering.

Beneath him, Aster’s lips are kiss-swollen, their cheeks red and their freckles swallowed by their blush. They’re the most beautiful thing Dorian has ever seen.

‘I want you,’ he whispers.

‘Yeah,’ they say, their gaze moving up to lock with his just briefly before they go back to staring at his chest.

‘I mean like – we’ve done this before. But I mean. More. You know?’ he licks his lips, clears his throat, and specifies. ‘I want to fuck you.’

Their ears twitch up and up and their eyes go wide. He didn’t think it was possible for them to blush anymore, but it seems he was wrong because they absolutely do.

‘Yeah.’

‘Yeah?’ Dorian prompts. He leans down into their space, close enough to kiss, but not yet. Not quite. ‘You want that too?’

‘I do,’ they say. Their voice is so quiet it’s a whisper, but they’re close enough it doesn’t matter.

Dorian grins. ‘Good. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same – uh, what’s that saying? On the same book?’

They frown and tilt their head at him. He watches them mouth the words back at him silently before their ears twitch and they say, ‘Oh. The same page, Dorian.’

‘The same page,’ he repeats.

‘If we were in the same book we could still be on totally different points.’

‘There _are_ a lot of things in books.’

‘There are.’

‘Babe, you’re a genius.’

Whatever they might have said in response is lost as Dorian dips his head and kisses them again, harder this time, with intent. As he slips his tongue into their mouth to rub it against theirs his hands drop to their thighs and he lifts them to encourage Aster to wrap them around his waist. They don’t need much encouragement.

Between their thighs properly now, he begins to rock his hips against theirs. He can feel their hardening cock even through their clothes.

Which reminds him, aren’t they overdressed?

He’ll worry about later. For now, he keeps kissing them, lost in the way their mouth feels against his, the way their body slots against his own. Their slight compared to his bulky frame, thin and slender but with a strength to them, a coil of muscle that keeps them fighting on the road. With their fancy dresses and pristine appearance Aster looks like they’re as vulnerable as glass – but they’re far from it. They’ll break before they bend, sure, but that’s stubbornness. He’s the same, and he’s at least double their weight.

Aster’s hands run along his back, their nails digging in hard enough that he makes a low, growling noise against their lips.

He forgets he’s never made that sound with them before.

They freeze. Dorian freezes when they do.

‘What was that?’ they ask.

‘I…Uh. Dragon, remember?’

‘Right,’ they squint up at him. ‘It was a happy noise?’

‘Oh yeah.’

‘Oh,’ Aster nods and then presses their nails into the sensitive spot where his tail meets his spine. His hips stutter and he growls all over again. They smile, looking far too pleased with themself, ‘Carry on.’

He pants down at them, at their flushed lips and glinting eyes. Gods, he’s in love with them.

He doesn’t say that. Instead, he kisses them again, because while you’re kissing you can’t say overly emotional in the moment statements and embarrass yourself. And because kissing them makes them gasp against him and makes them arch their hips up to press into his and he could drink in the sounds they make forever.

Dorian pushes his hands up their thighs, taking their dress with it. The fabric goes up, up around their hips and their waist and along their chest until Aster has to sit up enough to fumble out of it. He goes to toss it aside, then thinks better of it, since Aster’s gowns have a habit of costing as much as Dorian’s entire wardrobe. So, he sets it aside on the bed, out of the way, then looks back at them.

Aster has freckles everywhere. Over their throat and shoulders and across their chest where there is a fine dusting of pale ginger hair. He even spots a freckle or two on their hipbones. They’re pale, a shade of white that reminds him of the moon, something celestial, something more than mortal. There are scars streaked across them too, though their collection is smaller than his. That isn’t exactly difficult given he’s a walking collection of old wounds.

They’re blushing as they stare up at him, and he can see by the twitching of their hands they’re resisting the urge to cover themself. Dorian leans down, pressing their bare chest together, letting out a faint gasp at the way it feels to have them against him, beneath him. Aster’s eyes flutter and their mouth parts on a sound that he drinks in with another kiss.

This time, he doesn’t stay with their lips for long. He kisses down their throat, stopping to lick and suckle at the point where their pulse beats beneath their skin. He goes over their collarbone where he presses his teeth in hard enough to leave marks, marks that will stay even when this is through. He thinks of Jacob finding them tomorrow, of him adding marks of his own, and he leaves another for good measure.

He keeps moving, down to their nipples that he swirls his tongue around lazily before sucking hard enough that Aster clenches their thighs around him. He can feel how hard they are, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, not yet.

Dorian kisses over their stomach, nuzzling into the fine line of hair that leads from their navel down. Their hair is so pale he can only see it because he’s so close, because he can run his tongue along the edges of it to make Aster whine.

He ignores their cock completely. Instead, he sits up and tugs their underwear down and off, tossing it in the direction of their dress. They pout up at him and he smiles, pretending he has no idea why.

A pout for Aster Bellamy is not a usual pout – their expression is the same, but their ears are lowered, their eyes narrowed.

‘You still want this?’

Their gaze drops to his pants and back up again, ‘I do. Do you? You don’t…Look…’

‘Oh, my cocks come in strap-on form.’

‘ _Oh._ Right. That makes sense.’

He leans over them, letting himself thrust down against their cock just once, just to give them some friction. ‘Lucky for you I have them in my bag.’

Dorian moves then, crawling to the edge of the bed and leaning over to grab his rucksack. He starts digging through the contents as Aster peers down the bed at him.

‘What size do you want?’ he says, absently more than anything as he searches.

A pause. Then, ‘What’s the largest you have?’

Dorian stops his search and looks up at them. They’re blushing, but they’re not joking. Their tone is decidedly serious. ‘Oh yeah?’ he says. ‘So that’s how it is, huh?’

Their blush somehow manages to deepen. But Aster nods. ‘Yeah.’

‘Big I can do,’ he says. And there’s a glint to their eyes, a desperation. Okay, Aster Bellamy size queen. Unexpected, but not unappreciated.

He finds the biggest strap he has and shimmies out of his trousers so he can slip on the harness. Then he slides the base into the lock-point, checking its in the right place so it’ll rub against his t-dick without pain. He rolls his hips a few times experimentally, and sighs in pleasure.

‘That feels good?’ Aster asks.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘It fastens in so it rubs against my dick while I’m fucking you.’

Aster sits up and kneels in front of him. They wrap their hands around the strap and then jerk it back and forth a few times, like they’re getting him off. But the gesture makes the strap rub against him, makes pleasure spike hot through his gut and Dorian shivers, breaks on a moan.

‘You should fuck me then,’ Aster says softly, but their hand never stops moving. ‘I want all of you inside me.’

Dorian’s chest rumbles as the growl shivers up and out of him. Aster has that glint to their eyes again, the one that says they’ll do anything to hear him keep making that noise. Dorian knows it well because he feels the same whenever Aster moans.

He grabs oil from his bag and then they’re falling back together in a sprawl of limbs, kissing again, hands grabbing and touching and squeezing. He gets Aster on their stomach and they arch their hips up and back towards him.

Dorian takes his time fucking them open with his fingers. He savours the tightness of them, the way they start to ease open beneath him, the way he can watch their hands clench the bedsheets as they press their gasps into them. He goes slowly, one finger for a long time until he takes mercy and adds a second, then he begins to scissor them out inside them.

Aster whines at that, a deep, desperate thing, and they fuck their hips backwards towards him. Dorian considers denying them, considers playing the tease and coaxing this out for longer until they’re desperate.

But he wants them too badly for that, so that will have to come later.

He fucks them harder with his fingers, fucks them until they’re wet and open and he can position the head of the strap against them. He wasn’t kidding when he said he could do big, so even with the prep, he can feel they’re still tight around him when he starts to fuck inside them.

Aster moans as the head slips inside them, slowly working them open. They try to thrust their hips back again, but Dorian places a hand on their hip and squeezes. ‘You’ve gotta wait,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘I don’t want to wait.’ Aster says, and it’s so very nearly a whine.

Dorian raises his eyebrows. Okay, so Aster Bellamy not only likes it big, they get a little reckless in the moment. Interesting. He’ll be careful for the two of them.

He tightens his grip on their hip so they can’t move, can only take, and take at the pace he decides to give them. Dorian thrusts the tip shallowly in and out a few times, letting their body adjust to the extra stretch even as Aster gasps impatiently beneath him.

Carefully, he gives them another inch, then another, working them open slow and steady, refusing to give in to how good it feels or how much he wants to hear them whine and whimper more. If they want his biggest cock, they have to take it safely.

Eventually, finally, he buries himself fully inside them. The strap pushes hard back against his t-dick and he shivers at the pleasure of it, but he grits his teeth and rides it out, ignores the desire to start thrusting hard and fast. He goes slow, thrusting back and forth, in and out, until he can feel they’re open and wet beneath him.

And then he breaks and gives them what they want.

Dorian braces one hand on the bed and begins fucking into them hard and fast, jerking his hips at the right angle to get the maximum amount of pressure on his cock. Beneath him, Aster moans and gasps, their face pressed against their arms as they arch themself back towards him.

He doesn’t touch their cock for a long time. He knows if he does, they’ll cum, and he wants to make them wait. He wants them to feel how much he wants them, wants them to feel themself opened up and fucked by him before he gives them that.

But then they whine, ‘Dorian, please.’ And he can’t deny them after that. He can never deny them. Do they know that? Do they know that he’d walk to the edge of Faraday and beyond for them?

He leans down and reaches around to take their cock in his hand. They cry out as his fingers wrap around the flushed, hard heat of them and Dorian presses a kiss against their spine as he jerks his fist again and again until they’re crying out again, shouting his name, and spilling hot over his fingers.

Dorian doesn’t stop. He keeps his hips moving, fucking into them harder and deeper until the pressure on his cock builds, until it shivers down his thighs and along his hips and he cums hard and desperate.

Beneath him, Aster collapses at last.

Dorian pulls out of them carefully but he can’t make it to taking the strap off. Instead, he collapses next to them in a sprawl of sweaty skin. When he reaches for them, they roll towards him without question.

And like that, there’s no difficulty. No question of how he could slot into their life, their heart. It’s good and it’s warm and it’s right. He kisses them, strokes his fingers over their cheek, and knows that he never wants to let them go.

By the way they touch him in return, he dares to hope they feel the same way. Maybe one day he’ll ask. But for now, for today, just laying next to them sharing quiet kisses and soft touches is enough.


End file.
